


Somebody Else

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Desire, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, Love Confessions, One Shot, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: Finally alone in a solitary hallway, she lowered herself defeatedly onto a chaise lounge, earnestly hoping the alcove was isolated enough that she could avoid detection.  She folded her hands in her lap, digging at a blunted fingernail and detesting her garish appearance.  If only she was permitted to don a true mask, one which hid her face and could allow herself to forget her manly features and scarred cheek.  Instead – like all the other gentry – she was on display.Brienne attends a grand ball on the Night of the Thinning of the Veil.  Feeling out of place in her gown but comforted by her mask she seeks solitude away from the crowd.  But a certain Lion Lord is soon on her heels....





	Somebody Else

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I was inspired today to write this fic.  
Consider it my trick and I hope for others it is a treat! :)

The Maid of Tarth wove through the crowd, keeping her head bowed. Desperate to escape the throngs and to evade attention. 

_It is nearly impossible to slip by unnoticed – hideous spectacle that I am._

She avoided people’s gaze as she made for the exit, leaving the grand ballroom and its riotous revellers far behind. 

The Thinning of the Veil was an odd sort of night. A time for horrors when it was said the Stranger walked amongst the living and could take your life at any instant with a mere snap of his bony fingers. A tradition as old as the religion itself saw people disguise their true identities, it being said he was unable to steal the souls of those he did not recognise. Tonight smallfolk would gather around their fires, warding off the dark. Arcane masks obscuring their faces and ensuring they lived to see the dawn. But the nobles in their pretentious way had twisted the celebration to suit their own aims and it was this variety of gathering which Brienne was now subjected to.

Finally alone in a solitary hallway, she lowered herself defeatedly onto a chaise lounge, earnestly hoping the alcove was isolated enough that she could avoid detection. She folded her hands in her lap, digging at a blunted fingernail and detesting her garish appearance. If only she was permitted to don a true mask, one which hid her face and could allow herself to forget her manly features and scarred cheek. Instead – like all the other gentry – she was on display. 

The occupants of the Red Keep really did lack any imagination. Or put more plainly, the blame for this mummer’s farce imitating a religious rite, rested squarely on the shoulders of Queen Regent Cersei Lannister. This evening’s ball, purportedly in the name of displaying the wealth and generosity of his Grace King Tommen, was a grandiose parade of families and agenda pushing. In place of creativity and costumes the Lords and Ladies bedecked themselves in interpretations of their sigil, defying the original intention of hiding your identity. 

She had groaned in agony when the package had arrived from Evenfall, accompanied by her Father’s instructions to accept the invitation on behalf of Tarth and attend in his place. Always obedient and dutiful she complied – but she did not have to be happy about it. 

Her dress was quartered in their house colours, mimicking their standard. The silk clinging to her masculine form and making her feel more a freak than a Lady. The skirt ended at least five inches too short and she was painfully aware of the presence of her ankles as she tried to keep the impractical slippers upon her oversized feet. Her hair hung loosely, too short to be styled and too brittle to behave, making the unfortunate handmaids who had attempted to assist her throw their hands up in dismay. Brienne’s sole consolation was the mask, blessedly covering half her face but not enough to completely conceal her gnarled bite mark. The strange work of art framing her eyes, half rose bedecked in starbursts and half azure proudly sporting a crescent moon. 

But even this small comfort would be stripped from her come midnight. When all would toss their masks aside, revealing their identities and applauding their cleverness in thwarting the Stranger for yet another year. Knowing this ritual was not too far away had prompted her retreat, finding nothing appealing about the concept of exposing her appearance to the world.

“There you are.” She turned towards the familiar voice, emerald eyes gleaming at her from beneath his guise. “How could you leave me to face this travesty on my own?” 

“I had not seen you in hours.” Her voice was quiet, careful not to betray how much she had indeed waited for him. Watching for his golden mane to appear amidst the crowd. 

“At an event like this, even when off-duty, I must keep an eye on the King. More people equals a greater risk.” His tone was apologetic as his gaze encompassed her and she tried not to squirm under his scrutiny, instead turning her attentions towards studying him. 

Brienne had only snatched glimpses of her comrade’s attire before. The majority of his time had indeed been spent shadowing the King as he was flocked by adoring well-wishers. She knew the boy meant far more to him than the connection of guard to monarch and could not resent his presence being required at his side - even if it meant leaving her to her own devices. _My comfort and contentment are not his responsibility. _

The other times she had spotted the Knight he had been chatting amiably, making small-talk and flitting amongst the guests. Conveying an air of ease and charm which would always elude an awkward person such as herself. _But he has every reason to be confident, he is exquisitely beautiful. _

Jaime’s samite breeches were a deep rich cream and his doublet the most sumptuous of gold brocade. His blonde hair hung freely about his shoulders, falling in perfect locks the way her own would never dream of. His mask was fashioned in the form of a lion, which on a lesser lord would have been comical but on him spoke purely of majesty and might. It too was formed in gold, so the man himself shone brighter than the sun in a midday sky. His beaming smile only adding to his radiance and she felt herself heat at being the undeserving subject of his undivided attention. 

“My Lady…. Are you aware how much that mask becomes you?” 

She hunched in on herself, fully conscious that anything which shielded her homely face could only be considered an improvement. No doubt Jaime was making a jape, prodding at her looks as an easy mark. If only his opinion mattered less, she could let his comments wash over her like water off a duck’s back. But it fell from his mouth – therefore it meant the world. 

She hoped her eyes did not reflect her sadness as she responded. “It is just a shame it is not larger and I cannot wear it all the time. Then no-one would have to look at me.”

“You misunderstand me.” He pursed his plump and supple lips, nudging her to one side as he lowered himself to the chaise. Sitting so unnecessarily close their legs pressed together, causing her skin to warm through the layers of silk. 

“I did not mean it offensively, I meant it as a compliment.” His expression reflected the sincerity which imbued his tone. “Your eyes – I have always found them astonishing and your mask draws the attention straight to them. Impossibly making them larger and more blue.” 

He leant close and it took all her warrior’s instincts not to pull back as he invaded her personal space. The tip of the lion’s nose almost pressing to a starburst. “With those diverting marbles you could command a room. In these masks the other women are stripped of their distracting features. Their eyes and the windows to their souls laid bare. They reflect the glints of their cruelty. Their shallow superficiality. You on the other hand….” 

He took a deep breath, leaning his elbow on the back of the lounge and resting his cheek in his hand. “Those guileless sapphires would be mesmerising if they held even half the spark I see in them when we spar. But tonight they are dull… what is wrong?” 

She swallowed. Stunned and disbelieving of his compliments, yet transfixed and breathless just the same. 

_We have never talked this way before. I will not hide the truth from him…._

“Look at me.” She lifted the full skirt slightly before dropping it in disgust. “This is what my father wants me to portray. What I’m supposed to be. But I feel awkward, ungainly, mannish. I mean – it is not unusual. I feel this way most days of the week. But traipsing around dressed like a Lady just highlights my flaws. I do not feel myself. I’m made to be even more of a sideshow.” Brienne sighed. “I’m deprived of my sword and breeches. I feel naked due to the fabric. I miss the kiss of steel against my hip.” 

Jaime laughed, nodding knowingly. 

“Do you know what aches at me the most?” She did not know why she kept talking, but once he had opened the floodgates it all came tumbling out. 

_Perhaps it was the one wine I sipped whilst hiding in the shadows. _

“That this day is actually an opportunity to me. One I should have liked to properly participate in. The chance to be somebody else. To shed this skin. To forget my insecurities and disappear even just for an evening.”

“Then why don’t you?” He shrugged, as if it were all so simple. “You think I do not understand how you feel on the topic? I am the Kingslayer, the one they all whisper about. I should gladly trade my identity for an evening where I can breathe the air of the honourable again. Where I can be what I wish, forget the name Lannister and say fuck it to other people’s opinions.” He smiled at her again and it melted her at her core. Burning her retinas and making her heart sing. 

“You are the only one who comprehends me.” Brienne’s whisper was barely audible, her soul’s truth no louder than an expulsion of air. “And I in turn understand you.”

Jaime brought his lone hand to her cheek, softly caressing the mangled flesh of her bite scar where it peeked from beneath her mask. “If you could be anything, anyone, just for tonight…. What would it be?”

She shook her head crestfallen. Unable at this point to deceive even herself. “It would not be real; I would only be fooling myself. It would only be pretend.” 

“Then pretend. Be false, if just for an evening. Something that will make your load easier to bear. Someone that can say the things you wish to say.” He toyed with a coarse lock of her straw like hair. “You’re too honest wench. The most honourable person I know. Be daring, be silly, be bold. You can confess to me. I will harbour your innermost secrets – you know mine.” 

Brienne bit her lip. “So I must be something I’m not? A persona intrinsically different to the person I am at my core? Somebody else, whose burden is lighter. Who has lifted from her the one thing that pains her the most, that which makes her breath hitch and words stick in her throat?”

He nodded again in encouragement and she inhaled deeply. 

She knew he expected her to say that she would be someone beautiful, elegant or regal. 

Or a more articulate maid who was at least passingly fair. 

But only one emotion clamped iron cages around her chest, robbed her of function, left her desperate and despairing. Paralysed with want for the one thing she knew she’d never possess. 

“Then I will pretend….” Her mask was making her courageous. As she hid behind its disguise and ambiguity. “…. that I am woman - who is not in love with Jaime Lannister.”

Her hands trembled but her stare was steady. _He knows now. He knows how I feel. _

Even though her eyes glassed with tears she felt lighter. _He was right. _

Jaime’s face was awash with feeling. A liquid quality to his swimming emeralds as his face was transformed by tenderness. Her first instinct was to write it off as pity, but as she watched she began to recognise the subtle nuances of want and repressed sentiments. Brienne knew the tell-tale signs of the expression, so many times she had caught them flitting across her own face. The betrayers of desire and unrequited passions. 

“Do you know who I wish to be?” The lion was almost shy, a pussycat compared to his usual swagger. He absentmindedly traced the patterns of her skirt with his index finger and her skin rippled beneath the flimsy material at his touch. 

“For tonight I would be – the suitor and betrothed to the heir of Tarth.” His mouth twitched at the corners as he met her baffled stare. “I would be happy about it too – for you see it would be a love match, where we chose each other in spite of politics and alliances. Letting nothing stand in our way.” 

He brought his hand to the back of her neck, twining his fingers through her hair. “Do you know the woman of whom I speak? Have you happened to see her around?” He edged closer, until they were but a whisker apart. “For I am positively enamoured with my intended.” 

Her lips parted slowly, opening and closing silently several times before the answer poured forth. “She’s right here.” 

Jaime’s mouth covered hers with a sureness one would expect from a couple whom kissed frequently and often. His lips claiming hers with the familiarity and possession of someone who had imagined this moment several times over. Planning each gentle brush of his lips and purposeful stroke of his tongue. She too was guilty of indulging the same fantasy, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she did in her dreams at night. Reciprocating with a boldness generally reserved for private visions. They had no need to fumble, they were not themselves. These unencumbered certain incarnates free to lavish love upon each other, uninhibited and filled with yearning. Jaime pulled her into his lap, her legs falling to either side of his thighs as he deepened the kiss. Brienne leant over him, devouring the lion in tandem with his insistent grabbing and pawing. Her body responding without hesitation to every move he made beneath her. When he prised his lips away to travel the length of her jaw and neck, her moan was long and sonorous. The sound she produced taking her by surprise, the first vocal outpouring of a woman yielding to her wants. Usually she would be ashamed of her low tones, the lack of femininity in her octave – but tonight she was with her man and he had heard her oft before. He liked the sounds and responded with growls of his own.

“If I’d known.” She panted as he bit and suckled. “I would have worn a bridal dress….” 

“Why my love?” He mumbled the words against her skin. “So I could join you at the altar this very moment? Which I would very gladly do.” 

“No – the ceremony would be long completed, earlier today.” Her mask was knocked askew as his teeth grazed her earlobe and she grinned - adding to their narrative, the tale they wove as one. “It would be our wedding night. And you could take me to bed…” 

“Fuck-” He raked his fingers down the silk fastenings at the back of her dress, the scratching of catching threads distinct as his nails snagged pulls in the delicate fabric. His stumped arm snaked around her hips, drawing them flush against his own with a violent tug. The combination of sensations deliciously fierce and carnal. “-I would give my other hand to make love to you.” 

She ground down upon him, feeling his arousal straining against his laces. The friction through her smallclothes making her wild. 

“I want you.” She whimpered, raining kisses down his temples, through his beard. 

With a strength that matched her own he lifted her, flipping her over and placing her back flat against the tapestry of the chair. She encouraged him with sighs and bites, tearing at his golden buttons, as Jaime ran his hand up her thigh. Taking the fabric of her skirt higher along his travels, pushing it ferally out of the way. He raised her leg, hooking it over his hip, their eyes meeting with pupils blown from heady all-consuming desire. 

And the bells rang out to toll midnight.

Two people paused, caught mid-act by time itself. Chests heaving as the moment was shattered. Reality settling over them like a sodden cloak as cheers erupted in the distant ballroom. Brienne reluctantly removed her mask, clutching it in her hand, the crescent moon indenting her palm as she held back tears. The lion above her sat back on his haunches, unveiling himself as the man. Flinging the object aside with temper and resting his hands - real and golden - on his knees in despair. 

The Maid of Tarth righted her skirts. Sitting up and shrinking in on herself as best she could. Her hulking form the farthest thing from how diminutive she felt as she valiantly endeavoured to ignore the bubbling well of heartache within. This skill she was well versed in - having practiced the art for over twenty years. Trying once more not to dwell on what could be. 

^^^^^^^^^

The next day Lady Brienne passed Lord Commander Lannister in the hall. She was clad head to toe in boiled leathers, with Oathkeeper keeping close company on her hip. Ser Jaime smiled his familiar greeting, standing sentinel outside the King’s Quarters. White cloak billowing from his shoulders as he mouthed. ‘I will join you later in the yard.’ 

She nodded her agreement as she turned and descended the stairs. The misery she felt the previous evening dissipating. They could play at pretend but neither could deny what was. What they now knew. Titles, rules and propriety may have marked the Lannister Lord as the man she loved but could never have. But they could not banish the feelings which simmered in both their hearts. Hidden just beneath the surface. 

She smirked to herself. _Today Ser Jaime was different – never before have I seen him wear a scarf beneath his cape…_

Brienne raised her hand to her neck, calloused fingers skimming over the blossoming red and purple bruise. A love bite from a lion, concealed just beneath her collar. Matching the burn from a searing starburst which she branded into his own flesh. Their beacons of truth which refused to fade in the light of day. 


End file.
